A Toast to Us
by ButtercupSaiyan
Summary: A short story where the girls share a toast and reflect. (PG for themes that may disturb small children)


A Toast to Us  
by ButtercupSaiyan (buttercupsaiyajin@hotmail.com)  
  
---  
  
"Cheers!"  
  
The quiet, magical tinkle of glass clinking together lilted through the darkened kitchen, and crimson liquid swirled.   
  
Three similar older women sat around the table that looked closely related. The only thing that distinguished them apart were their distinctive eyes and faded hair. They smiled at each other jovially.  
  
"To our health!" the salt-and-pepper haired woman cackled, her green eyes twinkling with inner amusement.  
  
"To our health!" The musical twinkle of glasses echoed again. Sunlight reflected off the glasses danced madly on the walls and ceiling, disrupting shadows.  
  
"Bottoms up," the platinum-blonde woman suggested to the lady next to her. She shook her head, and locks of red hair whitened at the ends swayed gently.  
  
"You go first," the other woman replied, smiling, the corners of her eyes crinkling.  
  
"Let's drink together," the blonde amended. She lifted her glass to her lips, and her sisters did the same. She shut her eyes and thought back to the wonderful, sweet memories they had shared together.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Oh, they had been such happy children! It seemed like ages ago. The Professor, which what was, oddly enough, they called their father, had taken good care of them. She remembered the red oak trees that bounded their quiet, magical suburban neighborhood that would be lit up with sunlight in the morning.   
  
Every day they would put on their little uniforms of dresses tied with large black belts, white tights, and little black mary janes. Everyday they would go to kindergarten, or rush off to save the world. Those were the days!  
  
She remembered playing games of hopscotch and dodgeball with her sisters and the bouncy Robin, and quiet little brown-haired kid who would always watch them with large, soulful eyes. She didn't think he ever got up the courage to talk to them, he would just sit there, gazing at them. She couldn't quite remember the creepy kid's name.  
  
And the day the Professor called them into the house quietly, his voice hushed. He walked in a slow and dignified manner, ambling slightly but in no hurry. He put his arms around them and ushered them into the living room.  
  
"Girls, I'm going to go soon."  
  
"Go? Go where?"  
  
Her redheaded sister had touched her shoulder. "Bubbles ... "  
  
She remembered the brick red elementary school, and how all the smiling children would pour from the buses, like so many ants into an anthill. The teachers would stand there with their solemn eyes, gazing at the students. The sunlight would light up the courtyard, and she and her sisters would play hopscotch.  
  
She remembered her brunette sister, Buttercup, sticking up for her when the other kids would twinkle with laughter and make fun of her for carrying around her stuffed octopus. She remembered Blossom's gentle chiding.  
  
"Bubbles, you're too old to be carrying around a stuffed octopus all the time ... Buttercup gave up her blanket, I gave up my bow. Now it's time to let Octi go."  
  
Small child yet, with her hair still up in pigtails. She remembered the last time the old Professor drove them to school. It was the first day of middle-school, bleached whitely foreign with sunlight. The children around them still twinkled with laughter at the young girls who were so strange.  
  
"Teacher, may we please be excused to go save the world?"  
  
"I suppose so this time. But you have a make-up test on Friday! Now get going!"  
  
"Go? Go where?"  
  
"Bubbles ... he's going and he's not coming back."  
  
The time slot that was recess and PE, and they would play hopscotch in the corner of the large asphalt courtyard until the coach blew his sharp, stinging whistle. The children would gather around and stretch and run and run and run around the laps bounded by sharp, stinging red lines that said, "Do Not Cross."  
  
Quiet times, flushed with happiness and smiles, in their old house. Her sisters were always by her side, and the Professor would put his hands on their shoulders and pull them into large hugs frequently. They would sit around and watch television, or assist him in his lab.  
  
Always, the phone with the bright red nose would twinkle and ring, disrupting the slow times. Another call about some petty crime, some two-bit villain, some rampaging monster.   
  
But not always.  
  
Even their archvillain, Mojo Jojo, met his end in an outrageous disaster involving a formerly dormant volcano. Half the city was obliterated in flashes and pools of bright red until it was but a shadow of its former self. The natural cycle would claim the rest of their enemies, one by one, with the girls' intervention or not.  
  
Something worse and darker always replaced them, something that could not be gotten rid of. The little phone with its bright red nose flashing, and twinkling with rings that rang and rang and rang because a shadow that came through the city, through all cities, could not be gotten rid of. Normal people would commit crimes with no immediate cause.  
  
Some day, she couldn't remember when, they stopped answering the phone. It was time to forget one lone city, and carry the world on their shoulders. She remembered her hair kinking and growing longer and the uncertainty that was always her companion.  
  
She and her sisters had been drawn into a hug by her old father, in that slow and dignified way he had. No worry, no hurry. His wise senescence was marked by streaks of gray and white in his hair that she was fascinated by. She wished she could forget the way the world spun around them as their personal years flowed past. He was the unmoving center of that spinning.  
  
"Honey ... I'm going away. It's going to be my time to go soon."  
  
"I don't understand!"  
  
Their duty was not to the City of Townsville, but to the world to rid it of evil. Some people called them angels and messengers of God, the girls who would arrive in a twinkle on wings of light. Sad, amused smiles were exchanged in response.  
  
She remembered that first pink flush of love, love that needed to be shared with so many people in so little time. She believed that was her duty to the people was to love them. She had loved many persons, but it was very hard to love the people when the shadow spread more and more as the years passed by.  
  
Her sisters' distance and disapproval as she walked hand in hand with someone not her father and twinkled with laughter. She was the first to break. They would be caught in that pink flush too, some time, someday.  
  
The way the sunlight danced on the water. A person, a people had erupted from the shadows with sparkling knives and took away her love in splashes of red. The nameless thing that had replaced the villains was the spread of humanity, and ebbing away of mutants and monsters. Angels should not love.  
  
Sometimes, her loves were taken slowly, inexorably, in the way that the world would spin and spin without stopping, loves were taken and lost. The girl with the blue sky in her eyes had to learn to love no one and love everyone. Her sisters had already learned, so long ago. She didn't understand.  
  
"It will be my time soon, my dear," he breathed, gazing at her with those dark, deep black eyes that held the secrets of the world from them yet.  
  
"You mean ... "  
  
The soft, giggling whispers of confidential talks of girls under tented blankets illuminated by pools of light against the shadows. Her black-haired sister would lean close and divulge secrets to them, green eyes twinkling by the flashlight's glare, until it was their turn.   
  
"You mean it's like that?"  
  
And Buttercup would laugh softly, and Blossom would giggle uncontrollably. Small children, yet.  
  
She recalled the long halls of her alma mater, the journey into the apex of her education. But there was no time for that when another cry, another a scream in the night had to be answered. Sunlight would pour into the dimly lit rooms by means of tall rectangular windows.  
  
The teacher would stand in front of the class and drone monotonously. One day, she simply picked up her books and left. There were too many people calling out to her. She didn't have the time to spare.  
  
She remembered how past that, the monotony of fighting against the unstoppable, the unfathomable. Friends would come and go. The relent would come in the company of her sisters, a peaceful moment in the sunlight of the dawn.   
  
They would always answer the calls of those alone, day and night. Sometimes sleep was a luxury they couldn't afford.  
  
And then the crimson red of the sunset would wash over, and the shadows would ebb in and the cries would still ring out. Sometimes, there were too many at once, and they could not all be answered. There was no time for love or loss.  
  
The warm hand of the Professor crept into her small ones.  
  
"I don't know when. But I'm not coming back. You girls have to be ready."  
  
She smiled to herself on that evening, with her sisters slumbering by her side. There were no cries coming out to them, no more calls for help that twinkled from the darkness.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, the world was peaceful. The villains had finally been defeated, and the world had been saved. The sun was large and red overhead, but sunlight sparkled down. She and her sisters huddled together. They were alone. It was quiet now.  
  
It was time to go.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
She opened her eyes again. The room was already spinning, and sunlight danced off of the glasses, red from the liquid that coated the sides. The tiles glittered with the sunlight, chasing away the shadows. T he alcohol had gone to her head quickly since she had fasted all day.  
  
Solemn eyes and weary smiles were reflected back at her.  
  
She shut her eyes again, and felt sleep grasping at her, and her body going lax as she lost control.  
  
Briefly, a word escaped her lips as the darkness overtook her:  
  
"Amen."  
  
  
--- 


End file.
